John Keats ( 10 of 38 )
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, read more
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen-
For what listen they?
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I read more
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
Through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.
Through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.
